


Yours, Mine, & Ours

by your_bro_joe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Branding, Fluff, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s that, mate?” Junkrat asks, looking over his shoulder at the red-hot iron. Roadhog chuckles.</p><p>Perhaps it’s best to back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, Mine, & Ours

“What’s that, mate?” Junkrat asks, looking over his shoulder at the red-hot iron. Roadhog chuckles.

Perhaps it’s best to back up. 

They’ve fucked. A lot. They’ve also kissed, cuddled, and hugged. Mostly they’ve fucked, though. Hard and rough in red desert sand; slow and sweet under a blanket of stars; quick and hushed against the gas tank of Hog’s hog. They’ve done it all, really, and there’s nothing they can call themselves but each other’s. 

Maybe Hog has a bit of an upper hand there, but still. They belong to each other.

Maybe to the point that they feel possessive; maybe to the point that if someone eyes Hog the wrong way, Rat gets up in their face, shouting them down until they back away from the crazy blond and his pet pig. Maybe to the point that Hog has literally crushed someone’s skull for attempting to get Rat alone. Maybe he could pass that one off as “bodyguard duty”. Maybe. Probably not.

Rat knows better.

Rat knows he belongs to Hog.

And he knows Hog knows it runs the other way, too.

Hog’s more active in that role, though. Hog is the one that growls out “mine” when he fucks Rat, gripping his hips and ass so hard he leaves bruises--bruises that Rat cherishes the next day, or days, or weeks (sometimes they last a while). Hog is the one that bites hard, digging fangs in and writing his claim in whatever bodily fluid is splashed across them at the moment: cum, blood, saliva. Rat always giggles, thrilled to be so precious, so wanted, so needed. He’s less active in that way, but still. Hog knows. Rat knows he knows.

So it’s not really a surprise when Rat notices that the bits of scrap and wire Hog has been collecting are being assembled into one of his little piggy faces. He’s paid loving attention to it, making the nose and eyes match up with the tattoo on his great belly; trying to link them with wire in the background; make the connections less obvious. It’s almost sweet, Rat thinks, for a 500-pound, seven-foot-tall killing machine. It matches the piggies on his pockets and weapons. It’s sweet.

He’s a little more confused when Hog starts attaching a handle to the back. The handle lengthens, and the face completes, and then Hog just... keeps it. In his bag. With their things. He doesn’t wear it, like his other porcine paraphernalia, or give it to Rat, like Rat was thinking (maybe hoping) he would. It just sits there, jostled about but maintaining its shape. He almost wants to ask, but he knows better. Hog knows he knows better.

So it’s a little confusing when they’re mid-fuck and Hog reaches back to the saddle bag and pulls the thing out, admiring it in the glow of the nearby campfire. It’s even more confusing when he holds it in the fire for a bit, removing it when it glows as orange as the flames.

“What’s that, mate?” Junkrat asks, looking over his shoulder at the red-hot iron. Roadhog chuckles. 

“Brace yourself,” is all Roadhog says before he presses it to Rat’s right flank, and holds it there.

They’ve incorporated pain into their fucking before--they’ve bitten each other, slapped each other around, maybe even cut each other up a little, but it's nothing compared to the searing stab of the brand against Rat’s skin. He screams, loud enough that he sets off the calls of some dingoes in the distance, and that just makes Hog chuckle harder, digging it in, before he finally pulls it away.

Rat falls to his elbows, breathing fast and heavy, skinny chest heaving to recover from the mind-numbing pain.

“The fuck,” he manages after a while--has to stop, breathe, set his jaw--“the fuck was that, Hoggie??”

Hog runs a hand over the tender burn, and Rat flinches, fingers of his flesh hand scraping at the dirt. “Mine,” he rumbles out, and tosses the brand into Rat’s line of sight. The cute little piggy face stares up at him. He knows. Hog knows that he knows.

“Fuck,” Rat says, still shuddering, fat tears leaking from his eyes as the pain catches up to him, “yours.” He reaches back to grip the hand on his burn, and Hog lets him, for a while, until he comes.

The pain’s deflated Rat’s erection, so they don’t much worry about him getting off. Instead, Hog tends to the burn with cool water and a damp cloth. Rat continues to wail, but he clings, trusting Hog to do what’s best.

Once he’s bandaged and settled, Rat lets himself start to drift. Hog cradles him for a bit, then sets him down on his left side on their bedroll.

“Gonna have to do it again,” he hears Hog mumble as he packs things away. Rat makes a confused sound, and Hog pets his hair. “Went too hot, too deep. I got excited.” He kisses Rat’s cheek, and gets back to packing. “A good brand should have a cooler iron, and a lighter touch. If you want it to last for life, anyway.” Rat’s eyelids flutter, and so does his heart. “I’ll tend this one til it heals, then we can try again.”

Rat rolls onto his back; looks up at the back of Hog’s masked head.

“Yours,” he mutters, reaching out.

“Mine,” Hog answers, reaching back.


End file.
